The Falcon 900LX was a blur of polished leather and absolute silence, slicing through the midnight air above Eastern Europe. I wasn't watching the lights below. I was staring into the reflection on the window, seeing the man I had become: a weapon forged in blood and betrayal, fueled by the hollow absence where Isabella and my sons belonged.
Ivan and Alexander sat across from me in the cabin, their posture stiff, their faces masks of professional terror. They were attempting to brief me on the financial shockwaves from the last 24 hours, the collateral damage I had ordered in my furious, global financial chokehold on Salvatore.
“The markets are in chaos, Vova,” Ivan stated, reading from a tablet, his voice unnaturally calm, rehearsed. “The immediate liquidity freeze on Orion Shipping has
